


Friends in High Places

by haku23



Category: Captain America (Movies)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-02-19
Updated: 2014-02-19
Packaged: 2018-01-13 00:44:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,050
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1206568
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/haku23/pseuds/haku23
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam says that the birds aren't his personal courier service but Steve is starting to think otherwise, among other things. Or, Sam and Steve are big dummies and have a crush on each other and then smooch on a couch.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Friends in High Places

**Author's Note:**

> This is based on a post on tumblr! I thought the idea of Sam keeping an eye out for Steve with birds was really cute. 
> 
> Here is the original post :') http://pancakiest.tumblr.com/post/77061789574/sam-keeping-an-eye-on-steve-thru-his-birdy-friends

The pigeon flutters down beside him with a soft coo and Steve smiles before reaching into the pocket of his jacket for the seed he keeps there. Its head bobs as it steps even closer to his feet in anticipation of him dropping the food.

 

“You're gonna clean me out if you keep this up,” he says, and scatters a bit of the seed on the pavement of the walkway. His companion digs in immediately and despite how the dew hasn't dried from the grass, how the sky still looks gently tinted with the beginnings of sunrise, it isn't long before more birds arrive to take advantage of the feast.

 

A fatter pigeon flaps its way onto Steve's shoulder and pokes at the fabric of his coat until he relents and lifts a handful of seed up to it. And then it's mayhem. Birds fly around him so closely that all he can hear is the flapping of wings and they settle on his shoulders and arms and peck at his hair impatiently.

 

He's late for his meeting with SHIELD a couple of hours later but he has a sketchbook full of pigeons and sparrows. Maria Hill frowns at him when he walks in, so he doesn't show her the real reason he's a whole five minutes behind schedule.

 

The next time he takes an early morning walk in Central Park he has a procession of pigeons behind him while he follows paths that haven't changed much since his time. He doesn't count it as a patrol, perse, because he doesn't intend on keeping an eye out for crime but then he rarely does. He supposes the people trying to mug a jogger aren't really expecting him to be keeping an eye out either.

 

“Why don't you fellas pick on someone your own size?” he calls out, his breath a puff of white smoke. His voice carries better now and he sees the three men's movements stutter at the sound of it. They run. He follows on legs rebuilt for this purpose, breathes deep with lungs that fill when he inhales, and they keep running, but they don't get the chance to run far before he grabs one.

 

“I don't want any trouble!” he bleats and Steve thinks if he didn't then he wouldn't have been beating someone up. He sits him down on cold grass and scans the trees for the others. He can give a description of their face but it won't be good enough to catch them-never is.

 

He turns his attention to the jogger, who huddles shivering on the pathway, and his bruises. “You alright? I'm gonna call 9-11, just hang on.”

 

“Are you Captain America?”

 

“No, just someone who doesn't like bullies,” he says and hands over his jacket while he dials the police.

 

The headline the next morning says “Captain America Defends the Homefront”. Tony laughs at him, and Sam pats him on the back. Steve keeps a copy of the article for his book of Avengers-related things(“Iron Man Issues a Challenge to The Mandarin”, “Black Widow to Receive Award for Charitable Contributions”, and a clipping of an excerpt of a journal Bruce got published in a magazine) though he sits firmly on the fence when it comes to paparazzi.

 

“You need me to tell 'em to get lost?” Sam asks when they meet for lunch and a couple of photographers lurk by the door and Steve looks at his spaghetti bolognese for a second before shaking his head.

 

“Press was a pretty big thing back in the war, too. I just uh...I guess I didn't expect people to want to know anything about _me_.”

 

Sam smiles and Steve grins back reflexively, “you're a nice guy, Steve, it's not all about the suit. Surprised your friend Tony Stark hasn't given you any tips.”

 

“Yeah,” he says and thinks that yeah, it kind of is all about the suit because it and the shield comes with a lot of responsibilities he has to carry and those have a tendency to overshadow everything else, “he has, but they're not for someone like me.”

 

“You gonna be alright?” he meets Steve's eyes and having something other than the people outside and his half-finished lunch to focus on pulls him out of his head long enough for him to get free of the mire of doubts.

 

“Yeah. Just...gonna take some getting used to.”

 

“You wanna catch the game next Sunday?” he asks as a change of subject.

 

He thinks baseball and Bucky for a second but pushes it down because Sunday means Football and he nods, smiles, “last Semi-Final, right?”

 

“Yeah, I'm not placin' any bets but I'm hoping for the Seahawks.”

 

“Last time it was the Ravens, right?” he picks up his fork and Sam bites into his hamburger, swallows before answering.

 

“I don't know if you've noticed, Steve, but birds are kinda my thing. Besides, they've been working their ass off the past few years, it'd be nice to see them win.”

 

“You mean the name and wings were supposed to be a clue? No, didn't have any idea,” Steve smirks and Sam laughs, softly so he doesn't draw attention to their table, and something unknots in his shoulders.

 

~~**~~

 

“Friend of yours?” Natasha asks nodding at the pigeon perched on the bench nearest to SHIELD HQ. It wouldn't be out of place necessarily except that it has a note tied to its leg and flies to him immediately when it spots him.

 

“Oh. Uh. Friend of Sam's actually,” he grins as he carefully detaches the note from the bird's leg while it fixes his hair to its liking, “my...”

 

She nods so he doesn't have to continue, “he always send you notes like that?”

 

“This is the first time,” he says which ignores the fact that last time it'd been a hawk bringing him a granola bar. Sam says that he doesn't order them to do anything, it wouldn't be right to use the birds like his own personal courier service, and so Steve makes sure that he has some sort of reward for them but he doesn't think that 'the birds like you' answers all of his questions.

 

Natasha raises her eyebrow at him and shrugs, “I think it's kind of nice. And it's only once and awhile. It uh...It helps. Sometimes.”

 

He doesn't have to say 'when I feel like I'm totally alone in this place' but she gets it anyway, doesn't get offended when he does say it because they differ from other people. He tucks the note away in his pocket and retrieves a small handful of seed that gets devoured before the bird flies away in search of other people with food. They continue walking and he feels the note like money burning a hole in his pocket.

 

“Well I hope you don't use your connections to call for help when I'm kicking your ass tomorrow,” she smiles and he shakes his head.

 

“Believe me, I don't think I have any chance at winning,” he pauses before the stairs to the subway, “but hey, stranger things have happened, right?”

 

~~**~~

 

When he opens the door to Sam's apartment he gets hit with the smell of chicken wings and the sound of the pre-game show on television. Sam himself wears a jersey-Steve wonders if he has one for every bird-related team or just the Seahawks-and a pair of jeans. He feels overdressed in a button down but Sam doesn't mention it and he doesn't ask about the jerseys.

 

“Got your note. I brought some beers and...” he lifts the box though he remembers without looking, “these vodka things.”

 

“You planning on getting drunk tonight?” Sam grins and takes the drinks from him along with his coat.

 

“Actually I kinda thought there would be other people because Tony-but Tony is,” he shrugs, rubs the back of his neck, “Tony.”

 

Sam's face flushes and he retreats-Steve recognizes a retreat when he sees one-to the kitchen just a few steps from the entryway, “you need me to invite more people? Cause there's a couple people I could call to rub it in their face my team made it to the play-offs. Doesn't bother me.”

 

“No, I just...” he exhales, “I'd kind of prepared myself to have to talk to people.”

 

He brings back a beer for the both of them, “is that a good kind of sigh or bad kind?”

 

Steve takes the bottle and runs a hand through his hair, “I'm glad I don't.”

 

“Sorry, hard to turn off the counsellor thing.”

 

“Hard to turn off the Captain America thing too.”

 

“C'mon, let's watch the pre-show. Scouts honour, no more counselling stuff,” he heads into the living room and Steve follows. The leather couch sits against the opposite wall to the modestly sized television and a few paintings of landscapes hang on the light green walls. There's a doorway that leads to the bathroom and probably the bedroom as well but he can see the rest of the apartment from where he stands.

 

“I was never a scout, what about you?”

 

“Until I told the leader off for being racist and my parents pulled me out, sure. If you ever need someone to tie some knots though, I'm your guy,” Sam sat, and placed his bottle on the floor, “I got some wings in the oven but I also got burgers and vegetables in the fridge if you want them instead. And water. Or uh Cheetos.”

 

“Wings are great,” he smiles, without saying any of the three things he wants to about how Sam is feeding him wings and birds have wings and he calls himself the Falcon.

 

“Shut up, man you dress in an American flag,” he punches him in the shoulder and laughs, unrestrained and not like at the restaurant at all but he gets the same feeling-safety-from it, “besides, I said I bought burgers if your smart ass wants anything else.”

 

“Wings are good.”

 

“They saved your ass a couple times.”

 

“Yeah, they did,” he says and maybe it's because he feels safe that he feels okay in putting his hand on Sam's knee. The air stills for a second as he holds his breath, waiting for him to say that it's _not_ okay, but he doesn't. He looks at him even though facing down Nazis scares him less than this and Sam's tongue slides across his lips.

 

“You uh. There something that you wanted to say?”

 

“Thank you.”

 

“Jesus.”

 

“Him too, but not really as uh...I'd like to uh,” he really ought to not have been nervous because he has kissed people before-two people, even-but never a man. Never when the fate of the world doesn't rest on his shoulders, never when he sits secure in someone's home, and the overzealous heater isn't the only cause of him feeling too warm. “You know. Thank you.”

 

“You've never done this before, have you?” Sam smiles with teeth, eyes crinkling and Steve feels his face go redder.

 

“Not in about 70 years and that was more of a...Spur of the moment kind of thing.”

 

Sam kisses him. He tastes like beer and Steve doesn't particularly like the taste but he kisses back anyway, chases the taste until it's gone and all he can taste is his mouth. He pulls him onto his lap and Steve goes, settles into the space between his thighs without stopping the kiss. He doesn't know what to do with his hands so they hover in the air until Sam shifts them to his sides. His skin feels warm under Steve's hands even through the thick material of the jersey and it twitches when he brushes ticklish spots.

 

“I'm gonna have to make a call,” Sam pulls away to murmur breathlessly.

 

“ _Now_?”

 

“Why, you need a break?” Sam grins and his hands fit perfectly into the grooves of Steve's hips and against the bruises from he and Natasha's sparring session yesterday. He grunts and Sam's hands grip looser, “Everything okay?”

 

“Natasha kicked my ass yesterday. Bruises still haven't healed all the way.”

 

“Everything _else_ okay? You're not gonna freak out and jump out my window, right? Cause I just got that thing fixed, man.”

 

“Everything is fine,” he says and kisses Sam again.   

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! I was going to include porn but then I was getting to my writing saturation point so I figured it'd be better to save it for another day and get this fic finished. :'D


End file.
